Two against the world
by Gilaureloth
Summary: The night of Hero's party, Beatrice comes down to find the party cleaned, and Benedick doing dishes. NMTD Beatrice x Benedick oneshot.


**AN: NMTD belongs to the Candle Wasters, and MAAD to Shakespeare.**

Bea backs out of Hero's room quietly. It had been almost an hour since the party, and Hero has finally, quite literally, cried herself asleep. Bea sat with her the whole time, holding her, wishing there were some way she could make this better, make it just _go away_. But that was never going to happen, and the best she can do right now is make all the evidence go away. Hero is never going to feel better if she is constantly reminded of what a dick her ex had been.

Coming down the stairs, Bea hears someone in the kitchen. Resigned to having to kick some drunk party-goer out, she comes barreling down the hallway… and stops dead in the door. Benedick… _Ben_… is doing _dishes_. In their kitchen. Most of the party is already cleared away, and Ben is standing with his back to her, over a sink full of soapy water, and scrubbing the platter the cake had been on. Leaning against the doorframe, Bea watches him for a while. This is a very different side of Ben than she's used to seeing. She could almost get used to this, maybe even…

She stops that thought in its tracks, because _now_ is not the time. She is tired, and overwrought, and just generally emotional, and she is not _really_ feeling… charitable… toward _Ben_ of all people!

Just then he turns to set the now-clean platter on a towel he must have set out as a drying rack. Bea clears her throat and he looks up. He stares at her a moment before setting down the platter and wiping his hands.

"So," he says, finally, "are we fixing this the British way, or the European way?"

"What?" she asks, confused.

"Tea? Or alcohol?"

"I don't think more alcohol is going to solve anything here, Ben."

"Tea it is then," he says brusquely, lighting the hob and filling the kettle with water.

"Tea doesn't fix everything either," she protests, "I really think we should just let Hero sleep."

"I didn't mean for her, love," he says, "You're allowed to be upset about this too." Bea cringes inwardly. This is the second time he's called her 'love' and even though she knows it's a British-ism, that it doesn't necessarily mean anything, in her over-tired state it's almost too much. She clenches her jaw and blinks furiously, determined not to cry in front of _him_.

"Look, I, um… thanks. For clearing up," she says, not looking at him as she moves to sit on a nearby barstool. _Nice_,_ Bea,_ she thinks, _real smooth_.

"'Course," he replies, "Not a problem. You had other things to deal with." Which is true, of course, but _why_ is he suddenly being so nice to her?

"I know, but you didn't have to. I'm not a damsel in distress, here." She's trying to start a fight, even though she knows she shouldn't, because that's how she always deals with him. It's familiar, if perhaps not appropriate in this situation.

"I know you're not," he says, turning from fixing the tea to look directly at her, "If anything, in this situation, you're the knight-in-shining-armor. I'm just your lowly squire, taking care of all the little things you don't have time for. Now. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, thanks," she replies, dropping her gaze to her hands. _When did Ben become so perceptive?_ she wonders, _And how is it he suddenly knows exactly the right things to say, after _years_ of saying exactly the wrong things?_

He hands her the mug full of tea, and she cups it in her hands, taking a sip. She'd never admit it to him, but it _does_ make her feel slightly better. He brings over a mug of his own, and leans on the bar across from her.

"So," he says finally, after a long and awkward silence, "What are we going to do about this?" Bea looks up at him finally and finds him watching her.

"We?" she asks, quietly, "You mean… you believe her?"

"'Course I do. Anybody who knows Hero… well anybody who knows her and is thinking straight… would know that she couldn't do this."

"But… they're your friends," Bea protests, "Not that I'm not glad you're being sensible, for once, but…"

"They _were_ my friends, Bea, but this… this is not okay, friends or not. Claudio shouldn't have done this, if he had concerns, he should have _talked_ to her, that's what relationships are about. Confronting her in front of everyone was a dick-ish move… and that's coming from me, so, you know…" he glances up at her, and she realizes she has a stupid little half smile on her face. _Why am I smiling, this is not a smiling matter!_ But he smiles back, a little, before burying his face in his mug of tea. They sit in silence another few minutes.

"I- I don't know what we do, Ben," she says finally. "This is so… _fucked up_ and I don't even know…"

"Hey," he interrupts, reaching across the counter to lay a hand on her arm, "It's okay. You don't have to know now. Just… let me know when you figure it out, okay? And… I'll help. Whatever it is, I'll help." Bea stares down at his hand, but he doesn't remove it. Finally she looks up at him, and he's looking right at her, his face filled with concern.

"Thanks, Ben."

Silence falls again, but this time it's not awkward. It is companionable, just two people, and their mugs of tea, preparing to fight the world.


End file.
